My ride home takes me through Pyrmont and over the ANZAC Bridge. For some reason last week, I decided to look for a different route through Pyrmont. Not that there are many - the Star City casino is in Pyrmont and it takes up a big slab of land, and the Pyrmont peninsular is not that big.
I wanted to try a different route as there is one corner that I just hate crossing on the way home. It's an odd corner - on the way to work, it is fine. But on the way home, it is a nightmare. It's hard to explain without sitting you on a bike and getting you to do it yourself, but it is a spot that shows up the oddities of cycling. The problem is that you come off the Darling Harbour footbridge, which is designed for pedestrian traffic, and have to cross at a set of lights that have been setup for pedestrians and cars, but not cyclists.
I guess when they set this thing up, not many people were riding that way. However, I think the last census showed that cycling has grown by something like 600% or something silly on my route, and now the chickens are coming home to roost.
I really don't want to get knocked down on this particular corner, so I have been deviating down around Star City and checking out the alternative streets. They aren't much better, partly because of the idiot taxi drivers that hang around the casino. Them aside, I found a doozie last week - there is a bike path that takes you to the ANZAC Bridge, but it traverses a fairly steep hill. In their wisdom, the engineers who designed it have put in steps for pedestrians, and a path for cyclists. The two are intertwined, and the path is not wide enough for a pedestrian and cyclsts to get past each other. I doubt two pedestrians could pass without them turning sideways.
That's just part of the run. The path twists and turns and actually has two U-turns in it, and the turns are so tight, you have to unclip from the pedals to get around them.
Once again, some dopey council can say that they have invested in a bike path, but it is a big waste of money. I just wish these idiots would build things properly instead of coming up with a half baked design that satisfies no one.
Sunday, 10 December 2006
Water restrictions - piffle
I tried a small experiment with grey water recently. Instead of putting the water from our washing machine down the drain, I stuck the hose out the window and let all the suds and rinsing water go onto a small patch of lawn. I figured if it killed that bit of lawn, we wouldn't care.
Instead, we now have a small jungle outside the laundry window, and the rest of the lawn is looking rather threadbare. I give the lawn a bit of a drink twice a week - not a soaking, just a drizzle. The blasted thing refuses to grow, there are bare patches everywhere and prickles have started to make an appearance.
So this week, I dumped the washing machine water into the trough and then bucketed it out onto other bits of the lawn.
Well bugger me - doing the laundry uses a lot of water! I lugged out bucket after bucket after bucket. One load of laundry produced more water than I put on the lawn in a week.
So from now on, so long as we are not using bleach or hot water, that water is going on the lawn. Yes, it's a bugger having to cart it out the back door, leaving a trail of slippery drips, but if it produces a decent lawn, I am all for it.
What I really need is a 15 metre hose that I can attach to the washing machine and just dump somewhere on the lawn - the water can just run out anywhere and seep around the place. I don't need to be too artful about it.
Instead, we now have a small jungle outside the laundry window, and the rest of the lawn is looking rather threadbare. I give the lawn a bit of a drink twice a week - not a soaking, just a drizzle. The blasted thing refuses to grow, there are bare patches everywhere and prickles have started to make an appearance.
So this week, I dumped the washing machine water into the trough and then bucketed it out onto other bits of the lawn.
Well bugger me - doing the laundry uses a lot of water! I lugged out bucket after bucket after bucket. One load of laundry produced more water than I put on the lawn in a week.
So from now on, so long as we are not using bleach or hot water, that water is going on the lawn. Yes, it's a bugger having to cart it out the back door, leaving a trail of slippery drips, but if it produces a decent lawn, I am all for it.
What I really need is a 15 metre hose that I can attach to the washing machine and just dump somewhere on the lawn - the water can just run out anywhere and seep around the place. I don't need to be too artful about it.
Letting rip
No, I am not talking about farting, or having a go at something stupid. I am talking about that feeling when I am on the home stretch, a clear, straight path in front of me and no breeze or even a slight tail wind. That's when I chunk-chunk-chunk up through the gears until I am close to top gear and the legs are really grinding out the revolutions. Head down, bum up and seeing how fast I can sustain a good speed.
On a normal day, I can sit on around 45 km/h and that is it. Professional cyclists would laugh at me - they maintain that kind of pace for hundreds of kilometres in the Tour, but then they train all year, weigh at least 20 kilos less and have a peleton to drag them along. The difference between riding on your own and riding in a group is amazing - it's no use trying to describe it to someone that hasn't done it. It's not like jogging in a pack - you aren't going fast enough to benefit from the reduction in wind resistance.
Anyway, on a good day, I can crack 50 km/h on the flat and hold it for a few minutes. Then I get home and watch the individual time trials from the last Tour and note that all of the cyclists went faster than that over a 40 km course. Ah well, we does the best we can.
And it doesn't matter if I am not that quick - I still come out at the end feeling very good about it all.
On a normal day, I can sit on around 45 km/h and that is it. Professional cyclists would laugh at me - they maintain that kind of pace for hundreds of kilometres in the Tour, but then they train all year, weigh at least 20 kilos less and have a peleton to drag them along. The difference between riding on your own and riding in a group is amazing - it's no use trying to describe it to someone that hasn't done it. It's not like jogging in a pack - you aren't going fast enough to benefit from the reduction in wind resistance.
Anyway, on a good day, I can crack 50 km/h on the flat and hold it for a few minutes. Then I get home and watch the individual time trials from the last Tour and note that all of the cyclists went faster than that over a 40 km course. Ah well, we does the best we can.
And it doesn't matter if I am not that quick - I still come out at the end feeling very good about it all.
Good blogs
I have been reading a few good blogs lately. One is Flight Level 390, which is written by a US airline pilot. He has a nice take on life in the skies. I'm not sure why I like it - I just do. I used to go up the front of the plane when I was a kid and see what the pilots were doing, and I think he gives me an understanding of what I was seeing when I was 10 years old.
Another is The Magistrate's Blog, which is written by a pommy magistrate. His descriptions of the underclass that front him on a weekly basis are very good, as well as the deliberations that he goes through when sentencing them. The workings of our courts are a mystery these days as all the major newspapers seem to have given up on covering trials. The media seems to only cover the crime, not the aftermath. You hear about this murder or that rape, but rarely do you find out what happened next - unless some judge imposed what the media thinks is a light sentence, and then all hell breaks loose.
Random Acts of Reality is by a London ambulance bloke. He has just published a book about the blog, and I think his blog has gone downhill a bit since then. His early stuff, describing what it is like to work a nightshift dealing with domestics, fights, stupidity and mayhem, is very good.
I have also been looking at a few UK police blogs, namely Inspector Gadget and Copper's Blog. Both offer an interesting view on what the police have to put up with, and it's not pretty. I am not talking about criminals - I am talking about the mindless management wank that comes down from head office.
The last one is about teaching in the UK, by Frank Chalk. Frank has also put out a book as well, and sales seem to be going quite well. Now that I have some skin in the game (two kids to edumacate), I'm interested in reading what teachers think of their little dears. It's not pretty either.
Why the predominance of UK blogs? I have no idea. There are plenty of US blogs about police, ambulances and teaching, but maybe I just prefer the English style of english. There also seems to be a dearth of good Australian blogs on these topics. However, a good Sydney blog about taxi driving is written by my favourite man of lettuce.
They all put my feeble efforts to shame.
Another is The Magistrate's Blog, which is written by a pommy magistrate. His descriptions of the underclass that front him on a weekly basis are very good, as well as the deliberations that he goes through when sentencing them. The workings of our courts are a mystery these days as all the major newspapers seem to have given up on covering trials. The media seems to only cover the crime, not the aftermath. You hear about this murder or that rape, but rarely do you find out what happened next - unless some judge imposed what the media thinks is a light sentence, and then all hell breaks loose.
Random Acts of Reality is by a London ambulance bloke. He has just published a book about the blog, and I think his blog has gone downhill a bit since then. His early stuff, describing what it is like to work a nightshift dealing with domestics, fights, stupidity and mayhem, is very good.
I have also been looking at a few UK police blogs, namely Inspector Gadget and Copper's Blog. Both offer an interesting view on what the police have to put up with, and it's not pretty. I am not talking about criminals - I am talking about the mindless management wank that comes down from head office.
The last one is about teaching in the UK, by Frank Chalk. Frank has also put out a book as well, and sales seem to be going quite well. Now that I have some skin in the game (two kids to edumacate), I'm interested in reading what teachers think of their little dears. It's not pretty either.
Why the predominance of UK blogs? I have no idea. There are plenty of US blogs about police, ambulances and teaching, but maybe I just prefer the English style of english. There also seems to be a dearth of good Australian blogs on these topics. However, a good Sydney blog about taxi driving is written by my favourite man of lettuce.
They all put my feeble efforts to shame.
Bad Juju
Is there such a thing as juju? There must be. I had to hurry home from work the other day and the ride was ferociously bad - one of the worst I have ever had. Not tough or hot or windy - just a ride where I encountered more fool, dickheads and knaves on the road in one 30 minute session than ever before.
Most days, the ride in and out is pretty cruisy. I have selected a route that avoids riding on major roads, or crossing major roads at hairy spots. The thing about cycling is that it is not just riding on a road that can be risky - just crossing them can be pretty foul at times, even using traffic lights or a roundabout or a pedestrian crossing. Some intersections are clearly better than others, and my route is partly based around using the least risky crossing points. The other factors are hills (the fewer or gentler the better) and using bike paths. I don't mind doing nasty hills, but I like to warm up first, so my morning route takes a bit of a meander throught the flat bits of my suburb in order to warm the old legs and lungs up before tackling some nasty bits of geography.
Anyway, it didn't seem to matter where I rode - I ran into bad juju. The bikepath should be pretty safe, but I just about had a head-on with another cyclist who decided to take a notorious bend way too fast - luckily I had slowed right down and managed to avoid him. A bit further on, a woman let her dogs go just as I reached her, and they almost bolted under my wheels. Whilst in town, a bloke in a Range Rover cranked up his car just as I reached him and pulled out without looking - but I had spotted what he was doing and was well away from him when he made his move. A courier pulled up in a no stopping zone outside a pub, banking the traffic up behind him. Furious drivers then started pulling idiotic manouveres to get around him, and all of them would have ended up on top of me if I hadn't seen it coming and gone another way. Pedestrians ran out in front of me without looking.
That's just a small sample. All the way home, I was thinking, "Take it easy, keep your eyes open and don't push your luck", which was very annoying as I like to pedal close to flat out. Taking it easy is not part of my mantra.
But I made it home in one piece, and shook my head in amazement at what I had just seen. Is it the proximity of Christmas that makes people act so stupid? Is it the weather? What the hell is going on?
It's days like those that make you want to own a tank instead of a bike.
Most days, the ride in and out is pretty cruisy. I have selected a route that avoids riding on major roads, or crossing major roads at hairy spots. The thing about cycling is that it is not just riding on a road that can be risky - just crossing them can be pretty foul at times, even using traffic lights or a roundabout or a pedestrian crossing. Some intersections are clearly better than others, and my route is partly based around using the least risky crossing points. The other factors are hills (the fewer or gentler the better) and using bike paths. I don't mind doing nasty hills, but I like to warm up first, so my morning route takes a bit of a meander throught the flat bits of my suburb in order to warm the old legs and lungs up before tackling some nasty bits of geography.
Anyway, it didn't seem to matter where I rode - I ran into bad juju. The bikepath should be pretty safe, but I just about had a head-on with another cyclist who decided to take a notorious bend way too fast - luckily I had slowed right down and managed to avoid him. A bit further on, a woman let her dogs go just as I reached her, and they almost bolted under my wheels. Whilst in town, a bloke in a Range Rover cranked up his car just as I reached him and pulled out without looking - but I had spotted what he was doing and was well away from him when he made his move. A courier pulled up in a no stopping zone outside a pub, banking the traffic up behind him. Furious drivers then started pulling idiotic manouveres to get around him, and all of them would have ended up on top of me if I hadn't seen it coming and gone another way. Pedestrians ran out in front of me without looking.
That's just a small sample. All the way home, I was thinking, "Take it easy, keep your eyes open and don't push your luck", which was very annoying as I like to pedal close to flat out. Taking it easy is not part of my mantra.
But I made it home in one piece, and shook my head in amazement at what I had just seen. Is it the proximity of Christmas that makes people act so stupid? Is it the weather? What the hell is going on?
It's days like those that make you want to own a tank instead of a bike.
The Lynwood Cafe
The Lynwood Cafe is situated in a little village about 60 kilometres from Canberra. Blowed if I can remember the name of the place at the moment - I just know that you drive down the Federal Highway and turn right and there you are.
It's a nice place to stop for tea and cake if you are driving down to Canberra on a weekend afternoon. It makes a very nice change from the Macca's at Marulan. It's a whitewashed old cottage with a good sized bit of lawn out the back, and people come from far and wide for the food. It's one of those marvelous places where you can roll up for lunch at not depart until about 6 hours later. I like it. Only problem is, I have to drive 250 kms to get there.
Ah well, we dropped in the other day for a refereshing coffee and cake. I had a lemon curd thing, which surprised me by coming in a water glass. It was really strong curd at the bottom, with mild creamy curd in the middle and proper double cream on top. It was great, and about 4 times what I needed. It was possibly the best curd thing I have ever had, but I left feeling like I had pigged out on way, way too much creamy stuff.
The coffee was good too - I needed it to cut through all the cream I was ingesting.
J had a macadamia tart of some sort, which was also very good, but a bit sweet for my liking. Again, a portion half the size of what we got would have been better. Still, can't complain about being stuffed full of good food.
There was only one downer about the place - there was a table of a dozen or so ladies from Canberra doing lunch near us, and some of them had those amazing penetrating voices that you can hear in the next paddock. They all struck me as public servants of one type or another, and one of them in particular just went on and on and on about some drunken night, and unfortunately she had the voice that would penetrate cement. I had to listen to her dribble away as I spooned my way through the delicious curd. Some people need to be denied eating rights at certain establishments. Why can't we bring back some sort of class system? Not one where you have to be upper class, but one where you have to show that you have some sort of class. She was just a silly piece of work.
Lynwood is not for the faint of wallet either - two cakes and two coffees set me back $31.50. The cakes were $12.50 each.
Ouch.
It's a nice place to stop for tea and cake if you are driving down to Canberra on a weekend afternoon. It makes a very nice change from the Macca's at Marulan. It's a whitewashed old cottage with a good sized bit of lawn out the back, and people come from far and wide for the food. It's one of those marvelous places where you can roll up for lunch at not depart until about 6 hours later. I like it. Only problem is, I have to drive 250 kms to get there.
Ah well, we dropped in the other day for a refereshing coffee and cake. I had a lemon curd thing, which surprised me by coming in a water glass. It was really strong curd at the bottom, with mild creamy curd in the middle and proper double cream on top. It was great, and about 4 times what I needed. It was possibly the best curd thing I have ever had, but I left feeling like I had pigged out on way, way too much creamy stuff.
The coffee was good too - I needed it to cut through all the cream I was ingesting.
J had a macadamia tart of some sort, which was also very good, but a bit sweet for my liking. Again, a portion half the size of what we got would have been better. Still, can't complain about being stuffed full of good food.
There was only one downer about the place - there was a table of a dozen or so ladies from Canberra doing lunch near us, and some of them had those amazing penetrating voices that you can hear in the next paddock. They all struck me as public servants of one type or another, and one of them in particular just went on and on and on about some drunken night, and unfortunately she had the voice that would penetrate cement. I had to listen to her dribble away as I spooned my way through the delicious curd. Some people need to be denied eating rights at certain establishments. Why can't we bring back some sort of class system? Not one where you have to be upper class, but one where you have to show that you have some sort of class. She was just a silly piece of work.
Lynwood is not for the faint of wallet either - two cakes and two coffees set me back $31.50. The cakes were $12.50 each.
Ouch.
Tuesday, 5 December 2006
Weather
I have had a series of very indoors jobs for the last decade. I rarely find myself outside these days during work hours, so the weather for me has not been that important for a long time. About the only thing that I used to concentrate on during the weather report was the surf conditions, but frankly I can't work out the difference between "seas" and "swell" - I just go to the beach and hope for some waves to bodysurf on. I don't care whether it is hot or cold, fine or raining when I go swimming - after all, you're going to get wet, so what does it matter?
Cycling has changed all of that. Now I study the weather with the same intensity of farmers and ice cream marketing departments. Do I need to pack my spray jacket this morning? Is it a day for gloves with or without fingers? Should I take the clear lenses for my sunglasses? Will I have a headwind going in, and if so, how strong? Depending on the wind, which route should I take? Will I get hit by lightning? Should I pack spare socks (in case it buckets down and my socks get wet - putting on wet socks at the end of the day is not a good start to the ride home).
These are all considerations for the cyclist. Looking out the window helps, but I am now a student of the longer range forecast, because it also determines what time I get out of bed. If it is going to be stinking hot, I get up soon after dawn and ride in before the road starts to melt. If it is going to be freezing, I go in late after the sun has been up for a few hours and the mist has lifted.
It's all part of the subtle differences between motorists and cyclists. Motorists don't need to give a bugger about what is going on outside - you just set the climate control to 20 degrees and go wherever you are going.
Cycling has changed all of that. Now I study the weather with the same intensity of farmers and ice cream marketing departments. Do I need to pack my spray jacket this morning? Is it a day for gloves with or without fingers? Should I take the clear lenses for my sunglasses? Will I have a headwind going in, and if so, how strong? Depending on the wind, which route should I take? Will I get hit by lightning? Should I pack spare socks (in case it buckets down and my socks get wet - putting on wet socks at the end of the day is not a good start to the ride home).
These are all considerations for the cyclist. Looking out the window helps, but I am now a student of the longer range forecast, because it also determines what time I get out of bed. If it is going to be stinking hot, I get up soon after dawn and ride in before the road starts to melt. If it is going to be freezing, I go in late after the sun has been up for a few hours and the mist has lifted.
It's all part of the subtle differences between motorists and cyclists. Motorists don't need to give a bugger about what is going on outside - you just set the climate control to 20 degrees and go wherever you are going.
"Chai" for chunder
We recently acquired a packet of Chai tea. I am not a big fan of funny teas. As far as I am concerned, tea is made from tea leaves, and that is about it. No cinammon and vanilla and cardamon pods and all that muck. However, since I am not much of a tea drinker (maybe 5 cups a year), I don't have much say in what tea goes into our kitchen cupboards.
What amazed me about this packet of Chai tea is how much it stinks. The coffee shop that I visit once each morning sells bucketloads of the stuff, and it has never offended my nostrils. J makes a cup of it regularly, and it doesn't bother me when it is steeping in the cup. I can even make a cup for her.
What I can't stand is the smell of the box of teabags in the cupboard. For some reason, concentrated unused Chai teabags smell like vomit to me. Don't ask me why - they just do. We've had to seal them in a plastic tub in an effort to stop me from hurling everytime I open the drinks cupboard.
Wierd.
What amazed me about this packet of Chai tea is how much it stinks. The coffee shop that I visit once each morning sells bucketloads of the stuff, and it has never offended my nostrils. J makes a cup of it regularly, and it doesn't bother me when it is steeping in the cup. I can even make a cup for her.
What I can't stand is the smell of the box of teabags in the cupboard. For some reason, concentrated unused Chai teabags smell like vomit to me. Don't ask me why - they just do. We've had to seal them in a plastic tub in an effort to stop me from hurling everytime I open the drinks cupboard.
Wierd.
Sunday, 3 December 2006
Stupid councils get up my nose
I've had to visit a physio once a week or so for the last few weeks, so I have been cycling to the physio from work and hoping that my bike doesn't get nicked whilst I am getting kneaded. After the physio, I take the long way home, since my physio tells me that part of my recovery regime is riding. Unless you know the area, describing my route home is a waste of time, but one highlight is that it takes me under the Gladesville Bridge. The bridge was built in the 1950's, and is a typical concrete monstrosity of its era. I still like going under it, as even concrete monsters have a certain beauty about them.
In all honesty, I just want to climb up the support works. It's a big concrete arch, and it looks shallow enough to be able to climb up it with a good pair of grippy shoes. Doing that kind of stuff these days is enough to get you shot as a potential terrorist, so I doubt many people do it anymore. But it's nice to dream.
The only nasty thing about the ride is the bit that takes me to the bridge, plus a bit of stupidity on the other side.
The Council in their wisdom has decided to mark out a bike lane along a street that runs parallel with Victoria Road. Victoria Road is an immensely busy arterial - one of the main roads in Sydney. I hope I never end up on it on my bike. I much prefer the back street.
There is just one problem - the back street has a road surface that would put the Paris to Dakar rally conditions to shame. And of course the worst bits of surface are right where they have marked the bike lane, so I never ride in it. It's a bit bloody stupid really. The council can say that they have created another 500 metres of bike path for the cost of a few tins of paint, but the whole thing is just a lie.
Fucking local government. What more can I say?
Once I get under the bridge, I meander around the water for a bit before rejoining the road. Once again, the council has built a path that for cyclists, is a path to nowhere.
There is a bit of an artform to building cycle paths. With pedestrians, it's easy. You can build a totally shoddy goat track and people can still walk on it. It doesn't matter if bits are missing - pedestrians will find their way around any obstacles.
Now that I own a pram, I know that it is not so easy when pushing a pram. Suddenly those rocks and stairs and lumpy bits and missing wheelchair ramps become big obstacles. A pedestrian with a pram is nowhere as manouverable as one without. Sounds obvious, but it doesn't stop stupid bloody council planners and council workers from building paths that could only have been laid by complete dickheads.
With a bike, you take it up a notch as you are travelling a lot faster. My top speed pushing a pram is 6 km/h, and that is fast for most pram walkers. Yes, some people run with prams, but they are a minority.
On the flat, I rarely drop below 25 km/h unless there is a really nasty headwind. Cruising speed is around 30 km/h. Fast cruise is 35 km/h. Really hiking along is 45 km/h, and flat out with tailwind is 50 km/h.
Suddenly stairs and potholes and rocks and low hanging branches and other obstacles become enormous problems. A pedestrian going 6 km/h can come to a complete stop in one step. A cyclist at 35 km/h on skinny tyres takes.... I have no idea how long to pull up. Too bloody long is the simple answer, and at that speed, any obstacle is likely to result in a crash.
A cyclist is also as likely to get off their bike and push it as a motorist is as likely to get out of their car and push it. I know that sounds silly, but it is part of the psychology of riding a road bike. Mountain bikers might be used to dismounting, but the only time I dismount is at the end of the ride, or when I have to carry my bike up a set of stairs. Apart from that, I dismount for no one or nothing.
Which leads me to stupid councils. Once I get past the Gladesville Bridge, I am on a path that was not designed with bikes in mind. For starters, there is no way to get onto it from the road - no wheelchair ramp. The only way onto it is to either jump the kerb and cross some grass, or to go into a driveway and cross a nature strip, hoping that no punctures occur on the way across. At the far end, there is a wheelchair ramp, but it is not designed for a speedy exit onto the road. I think the safest way to get onto a road is to do so as quickly as possible, like merging lanes when you join a freeway. Slow traffic is a menace, and so are slow bikes. Of course the ramp has been located in such a way to slow you to an utter crawl.
I wish I could control a concrete truck and crew for a few weeks. The fun I'd have.
In all honesty, I just want to climb up the support works. It's a big concrete arch, and it looks shallow enough to be able to climb up it with a good pair of grippy shoes. Doing that kind of stuff these days is enough to get you shot as a potential terrorist, so I doubt many people do it anymore. But it's nice to dream.
The only nasty thing about the ride is the bit that takes me to the bridge, plus a bit of stupidity on the other side.
The Council in their wisdom has decided to mark out a bike lane along a street that runs parallel with Victoria Road. Victoria Road is an immensely busy arterial - one of the main roads in Sydney. I hope I never end up on it on my bike. I much prefer the back street.
There is just one problem - the back street has a road surface that would put the Paris to Dakar rally conditions to shame. And of course the worst bits of surface are right where they have marked the bike lane, so I never ride in it. It's a bit bloody stupid really. The council can say that they have created another 500 metres of bike path for the cost of a few tins of paint, but the whole thing is just a lie.
Fucking local government. What more can I say?
Once I get under the bridge, I meander around the water for a bit before rejoining the road. Once again, the council has built a path that for cyclists, is a path to nowhere.
There is a bit of an artform to building cycle paths. With pedestrians, it's easy. You can build a totally shoddy goat track and people can still walk on it. It doesn't matter if bits are missing - pedestrians will find their way around any obstacles.
Now that I own a pram, I know that it is not so easy when pushing a pram. Suddenly those rocks and stairs and lumpy bits and missing wheelchair ramps become big obstacles. A pedestrian with a pram is nowhere as manouverable as one without. Sounds obvious, but it doesn't stop stupid bloody council planners and council workers from building paths that could only have been laid by complete dickheads.
With a bike, you take it up a notch as you are travelling a lot faster. My top speed pushing a pram is 6 km/h, and that is fast for most pram walkers. Yes, some people run with prams, but they are a minority.
On the flat, I rarely drop below 25 km/h unless there is a really nasty headwind. Cruising speed is around 30 km/h. Fast cruise is 35 km/h. Really hiking along is 45 km/h, and flat out with tailwind is 50 km/h.
Suddenly stairs and potholes and rocks and low hanging branches and other obstacles become enormous problems. A pedestrian going 6 km/h can come to a complete stop in one step. A cyclist at 35 km/h on skinny tyres takes.... I have no idea how long to pull up. Too bloody long is the simple answer, and at that speed, any obstacle is likely to result in a crash.
A cyclist is also as likely to get off their bike and push it as a motorist is as likely to get out of their car and push it. I know that sounds silly, but it is part of the psychology of riding a road bike. Mountain bikers might be used to dismounting, but the only time I dismount is at the end of the ride, or when I have to carry my bike up a set of stairs. Apart from that, I dismount for no one or nothing.
Which leads me to stupid councils. Once I get past the Gladesville Bridge, I am on a path that was not designed with bikes in mind. For starters, there is no way to get onto it from the road - no wheelchair ramp. The only way onto it is to either jump the kerb and cross some grass, or to go into a driveway and cross a nature strip, hoping that no punctures occur on the way across. At the far end, there is a wheelchair ramp, but it is not designed for a speedy exit onto the road. I think the safest way to get onto a road is to do so as quickly as possible, like merging lanes when you join a freeway. Slow traffic is a menace, and so are slow bikes. Of course the ramp has been located in such a way to slow you to an utter crawl.
I wish I could control a concrete truck and crew for a few weeks. The fun I'd have.
How to cut the road toll
Once again, the SMH is up in arms about P-platers running into things and killing themselves. Everyday, there is another front page article on some 18 year old that has managed to kill themself, and often a few friends. There is the usual hue and cry to "do something about it".
I don't know about you, but I think the principal cause is that young people are idiots. I was young once, and I was an idiot. I did stupid things with guns, flamable liquids, explosives, cars, heights, fire, water, tools, alcohol, bicycles, motorbikes, trucks, cats and just about anything that came to hand. That's part of being young. I was lucky - I got away with it.
The usual cure for all of this is simple - growing up.
One difference these days is that the youngsters are driving much better cars than we had to put up with. One of the things that comes with a "better" car is that it is faster. We had underpowered slugheaps that were lucky to get up to 110 going downhill with a tailwind. Every picture of a totalled car that I have seen included what seemed to be a fairly late model car that had either a reasonably powerful 4 cylinder motor or a fairly pokey 6. Commodores these days can get up to a ludicrously scarey speed in very little time at all. Cars have gotten safer, faster, more economical and less polluting, and along the way, they have created a false sense of security. I live on a corner, and the window that I am sitting in front of now looks onto that corner. I see youngsters lose it on this corner all the time - they try and take it too fast and they end up all out of shape. So far, none of them has met a car coming the other way, but that day will come, and I will be looking out the window at a head-on.
The cars that I drove as a youngster all got out of shape so quickly that one didn't have a chance to have a deadly high speed crash - one had metal bending low speed crashes that rarely resulted even in bruising.
I think the answer is to start importing Russian cars again and making them compulsory for those under 25. No more BMW's for the 19 year olds.
I don't know about you, but I think the principal cause is that young people are idiots. I was young once, and I was an idiot. I did stupid things with guns, flamable liquids, explosives, cars, heights, fire, water, tools, alcohol, bicycles, motorbikes, trucks, cats and just about anything that came to hand. That's part of being young. I was lucky - I got away with it.
The usual cure for all of this is simple - growing up.
One difference these days is that the youngsters are driving much better cars than we had to put up with. One of the things that comes with a "better" car is that it is faster. We had underpowered slugheaps that were lucky to get up to 110 going downhill with a tailwind. Every picture of a totalled car that I have seen included what seemed to be a fairly late model car that had either a reasonably powerful 4 cylinder motor or a fairly pokey 6. Commodores these days can get up to a ludicrously scarey speed in very little time at all. Cars have gotten safer, faster, more economical and less polluting, and along the way, they have created a false sense of security. I live on a corner, and the window that I am sitting in front of now looks onto that corner. I see youngsters lose it on this corner all the time - they try and take it too fast and they end up all out of shape. So far, none of them has met a car coming the other way, but that day will come, and I will be looking out the window at a head-on.
The cars that I drove as a youngster all got out of shape so quickly that one didn't have a chance to have a deadly high speed crash - one had metal bending low speed crashes that rarely resulted even in bruising.
I think the answer is to start importing Russian cars again and making them compulsory for those under 25. No more BMW's for the 19 year olds.
I must be a sucker for Ikea
For some years now, I have been working off a big desk at home that is totally bereft of drawers or filing. It's great - I just dump everything on top and when the mess gets too much, I throw out all the rubbish, stack up the things I want to keep and move on.
Due to space restrictions though, I now have to share the desk. Boo hoo. I am now down to about 1/3 of the area that I am used to, since a fax and another PC now occupy the other 2/3 of the desk. That meant I finally had to relent and buy a 3 drawer thingy to stash all my loose junk in. Ikea seemed to offer the best bargain with the 3 drawer thingys costing only $49.
I think. I'm sure I only paid $49. Maybe it was $59? Who knows. It was less than you'd probably pay for a half decent unit second hand.
The only problem with buying a GOLIAT from Ikea is putting the blasted thing together. They always fool you in the shops by presenting fully built models. That to me is false advertising - they should instead display what the thing looks like when you pull the 74 bits out of the box and have them spread around you on the floor. Then throw in a couple of toddlers to smash the foam packing into 63,000 little white bits and to jump up and down on the cardboard box until it is mush.
It shouldn't have been that hard. After all, the little Dalek of a thing barely reaches my knee, has no moving parts and consists largely of a base, two sides, a back and a top.
Well, it wasn't that hard really, except that my legs ached from bending over for an hour or so whilst screwing it together.
What I did work out is that this self-assembley idea is a crock. I have just bought something for $49 that has numerous metal and plastic fasteners, umpteen bits of wood, plastic runners and door handles and was all cut and packed in China and shipped to Australia and it still only cost $49.
Which means if you take out the profit and the shipping costs and the handling and transport and storage and the general overhead of running a 2 acre shop, means it probably cost about $10 to make in China. Which also means some rice eating bloke was probably paid about 20 cents an hour to cut it and pack it.
If it took me an hour to put it together, why not give the guy another bowl of rice and get him to put it together? After all, it would increase the price from $49.00 to $49.20.
Due to space restrictions though, I now have to share the desk. Boo hoo. I am now down to about 1/3 of the area that I am used to, since a fax and another PC now occupy the other 2/3 of the desk. That meant I finally had to relent and buy a 3 drawer thingy to stash all my loose junk in. Ikea seemed to offer the best bargain with the 3 drawer thingys costing only $49.
I think. I'm sure I only paid $49. Maybe it was $59? Who knows. It was less than you'd probably pay for a half decent unit second hand.
The only problem with buying a GOLIAT from Ikea is putting the blasted thing together. They always fool you in the shops by presenting fully built models. That to me is false advertising - they should instead display what the thing looks like when you pull the 74 bits out of the box and have them spread around you on the floor. Then throw in a couple of toddlers to smash the foam packing into 63,000 little white bits and to jump up and down on the cardboard box until it is mush.
It shouldn't have been that hard. After all, the little Dalek of a thing barely reaches my knee, has no moving parts and consists largely of a base, two sides, a back and a top.
Well, it wasn't that hard really, except that my legs ached from bending over for an hour or so whilst screwing it together.
What I did work out is that this self-assembley idea is a crock. I have just bought something for $49 that has numerous metal and plastic fasteners, umpteen bits of wood, plastic runners and door handles and was all cut and packed in China and shipped to Australia and it still only cost $49.
Which means if you take out the profit and the shipping costs and the handling and transport and storage and the general overhead of running a 2 acre shop, means it probably cost about $10 to make in China. Which also means some rice eating bloke was probably paid about 20 cents an hour to cut it and pack it.
If it took me an hour to put it together, why not give the guy another bowl of rice and get him to put it together? After all, it would increase the price from $49.00 to $49.20.
Dining at the Welcome Hotel
Had dinner at the Welcome last week - hadn't been there for some time, and we felt like a night out.
The Welcome has a proper dining room, unlike some pubs where you just eat in the bar area. Not many people were having a feed - the dining room had maybe a dozen tables and we were the only ones there until near the end of the meal.
We don't have the luxury of eating long, lazy meals anymore. Little Monkey will sit around reasonably quietly for about 10 minutes and that's it. As soon as we got there, we let him go and he wandered around the restaurant until the food arrived re-arranging chairs, playing with the power points and generally trying to pull glasses, plates and cuttlery onto the floor.
The Welcome has quite a good menu, with just enough dishes to choose from. They'd don't smother you with choice. I didn't bother looking at the wine list as we were both off the juice. What I should have done was eat 2 or 3 entrees instead of just having a main. The entrees looked really good on paper, and my main turned out to be annoying.
One bad thing was that our food seemed to take forever to arrive. I went for a veal cutlet, which was a good sized, done rare but served on a bed of awful vegies. I think it was a bed of celery and leek, and I just hate celery. I don't mind leek, but it was undercooked and tough and stringy. The meat was good though. I asked for a side order of chips, and they were the crappiest chips that I have had in a while. No salt, not fried - I think they were oven baked, and they were both soggy and flavourless. Don't go the chips.
J had a chicken ballantyne, which is some sort of boned out piece of chook that has been stuffed with something. I'm not sure what it was stuffed with, but I didn't particularly like it. It was served with some sort of gnocchi, which I tried and almost spat out. It was dreadful. I think it was stuffed with sage, which I love with pork, but it seemed to be about 70% sage and 30% gnocchi and you have to tread lightly with sage.
Big thumbs down.
To cap it off, the chook did not agree with J, and we had to pay and bolt and then pray that she didn't have a chuck in the car on the way home. It was that bad.
Which is a shame, as J knows the owner and the Welcome is normally very good. It hasn't put me off the place, as it has so much potential. Next time we go there, I am just going to order entrees until I have had enough.
As far as price goes, it is a bit expensive. Our mains were $27 each, and the totally crap chips were $7.50, which is one of the most awful rip-offs that I have ever seen. For $7.50, we could have gone to Lashings and got a great big burger with everything and chips on the side, and Lashings makes great chips, smothered in chicken salt.
So that was the Welcome. I wonder how long it will be before I can face it again?
The Welcome has a proper dining room, unlike some pubs where you just eat in the bar area. Not many people were having a feed - the dining room had maybe a dozen tables and we were the only ones there until near the end of the meal.
We don't have the luxury of eating long, lazy meals anymore. Little Monkey will sit around reasonably quietly for about 10 minutes and that's it. As soon as we got there, we let him go and he wandered around the restaurant until the food arrived re-arranging chairs, playing with the power points and generally trying to pull glasses, plates and cuttlery onto the floor.
The Welcome has quite a good menu, with just enough dishes to choose from. They'd don't smother you with choice. I didn't bother looking at the wine list as we were both off the juice. What I should have done was eat 2 or 3 entrees instead of just having a main. The entrees looked really good on paper, and my main turned out to be annoying.
One bad thing was that our food seemed to take forever to arrive. I went for a veal cutlet, which was a good sized, done rare but served on a bed of awful vegies. I think it was a bed of celery and leek, and I just hate celery. I don't mind leek, but it was undercooked and tough and stringy. The meat was good though. I asked for a side order of chips, and they were the crappiest chips that I have had in a while. No salt, not fried - I think they were oven baked, and they were both soggy and flavourless. Don't go the chips.
J had a chicken ballantyne, which is some sort of boned out piece of chook that has been stuffed with something. I'm not sure what it was stuffed with, but I didn't particularly like it. It was served with some sort of gnocchi, which I tried and almost spat out. It was dreadful. I think it was stuffed with sage, which I love with pork, but it seemed to be about 70% sage and 30% gnocchi and you have to tread lightly with sage.
Big thumbs down.
To cap it off, the chook did not agree with J, and we had to pay and bolt and then pray that she didn't have a chuck in the car on the way home. It was that bad.
Which is a shame, as J knows the owner and the Welcome is normally very good. It hasn't put me off the place, as it has so much potential. Next time we go there, I am just going to order entrees until I have had enough.
As far as price goes, it is a bit expensive. Our mains were $27 each, and the totally crap chips were $7.50, which is one of the most awful rip-offs that I have ever seen. For $7.50, we could have gone to Lashings and got a great big burger with everything and chips on the side, and Lashings makes great chips, smothered in chicken salt.
So that was the Welcome. I wonder how long it will be before I can face it again?
Saturday, 2 December 2006
Flipping foul French food
Well, I finally made it to our local French restaurant for a feed other than breakfast. I was working from home last week and feeling a bit peckish and we were monkey free, so we decided to have lunch as a couple.
Le Grande Bouffe is a lovely place to sit in - the decor is good and the layout is interesting. The staff are also not too bad. Pity about the food.
To start with, it's a very difficult place to take a vegetarian for lunch, even one that eats chicken (a chookatarian?). Apart from a salad and a soup, everything on the menu had lots of meat in it. Or fish. Vegetarians could starve in places like this. I guess there aren't many vegos in Frogland.
I was not that hungry, so I went for two entrees - the soup and a terrine. The soup was a consome of tomato with a few parcels of pasta like stuff in it, sprinkled with truffle oil and shredded basil. It was nice, but not to my taste. It was also a silly thing to eat when the temperature was around 38 degrees.
The terrine was not bad either, but not good. It was just plain boring. I doubt there was any herbs or seasoning in the meat mixture, and if there were, they were very subtle. Too subtle for my worn out tongue. It was served with a small pot of onion relish, which was quite tasteless as far as relishes go, and the relish was garnished with two small cornichons, which were also pretty tasteless.
In short, it was like working your way through a plate of cardboard. Not bad cardboard, but cardboard none the less.
J had a salad of walnut, blue cheese, pear and rocket-type greenery, and it looked alright. It was the only thing she could eat on the menu. There seemed to be a lot of it, and she didn't complain, but we aren't going back.
It's put me off French food a bit. We have another frog place nearby called Vatel, and we have never eaten there, although everytime we drive past we say, "We should eat there". Now I am not so sure.
Ah, what the hell, we'll give it a go.
PS - lunch at Le Grande Bouffe set us back quite a lot when you consider that we had 3 entrees and tap water. It was an expensive failure.
Le Grande Bouffe is a lovely place to sit in - the decor is good and the layout is interesting. The staff are also not too bad. Pity about the food.
To start with, it's a very difficult place to take a vegetarian for lunch, even one that eats chicken (a chookatarian?). Apart from a salad and a soup, everything on the menu had lots of meat in it. Or fish. Vegetarians could starve in places like this. I guess there aren't many vegos in Frogland.
I was not that hungry, so I went for two entrees - the soup and a terrine. The soup was a consome of tomato with a few parcels of pasta like stuff in it, sprinkled with truffle oil and shredded basil. It was nice, but not to my taste. It was also a silly thing to eat when the temperature was around 38 degrees.
The terrine was not bad either, but not good. It was just plain boring. I doubt there was any herbs or seasoning in the meat mixture, and if there were, they were very subtle. Too subtle for my worn out tongue. It was served with a small pot of onion relish, which was quite tasteless as far as relishes go, and the relish was garnished with two small cornichons, which were also pretty tasteless.
In short, it was like working your way through a plate of cardboard. Not bad cardboard, but cardboard none the less.
J had a salad of walnut, blue cheese, pear and rocket-type greenery, and it looked alright. It was the only thing she could eat on the menu. There seemed to be a lot of it, and she didn't complain, but we aren't going back.
It's put me off French food a bit. We have another frog place nearby called Vatel, and we have never eaten there, although everytime we drive past we say, "We should eat there". Now I am not so sure.
Ah, what the hell, we'll give it a go.
PS - lunch at Le Grande Bouffe set us back quite a lot when you consider that we had 3 entrees and tap water. It was an expensive failure.
Yes, I have changed the blog template
I must be getting old, because I was finding the blog hard to read with the previous template. I have been reading a few blogs lately, and found that the "minima" template is one of the easiest to read - big letters, few distractions.
I hope it helps your eyes too.
I hope it helps your eyes too.
Lazy good for nothing shoppers
I hate lazy people. People who are too lazy to push their shopping trolley into a trolley bay in the car park once they have finished loading their car. People who just leave their trolley next to their car, blocking two car spaces, and drive off.
I hope they are all fat bastards with sore knees.
Why is it that people think it is fine to abandon trolleys in car parks? Where I shop, there are multiple spots set aside for used trolleys, and no car space is more than a 20 second walk from a trolley bay. Yet the car park is generally spattered with trolleys, and one bloke is employed full time to go round and round the car park sweeping them up.
I parked there the other day, spotted an unused trolley and pushed it to a bay, which wasn't that hard as the trolley was right next to my car and the trolley bay was in a direct line to the escalator which takes you up to the shops. I didn't have to deviate more than a few feet to collect it.
I got some stares of wonder and astonishment from some of my fellow shoppers. The thought of cleaning up after themselves had obviously never crossed their tiny little minds.
I can't wait for my local supermarket to start charging a $2 deposit for trolleys. That'll stuff 'em.
I hope they are all fat bastards with sore knees.
Why is it that people think it is fine to abandon trolleys in car parks? Where I shop, there are multiple spots set aside for used trolleys, and no car space is more than a 20 second walk from a trolley bay. Yet the car park is generally spattered with trolleys, and one bloke is employed full time to go round and round the car park sweeping them up.
I parked there the other day, spotted an unused trolley and pushed it to a bay, which wasn't that hard as the trolley was right next to my car and the trolley bay was in a direct line to the escalator which takes you up to the shops. I didn't have to deviate more than a few feet to collect it.
I got some stares of wonder and astonishment from some of my fellow shoppers. The thought of cleaning up after themselves had obviously never crossed their tiny little minds.
I can't wait for my local supermarket to start charging a $2 deposit for trolleys. That'll stuff 'em.
I finally make an edible breakfast
I eat breakfast out a lot. There are several reasons for this, but the main one is that I am not that fond of cereal. The ones that are good for you taste like cardboard and I just don't like the ones that are bad for you - way too sweet. I can't handle sweet stuff early in the morning. Croissants and bagels and all that are not for me - I need something savoury.
The second reason is that I can't make coffee, or at least good coffee. I have tried my hand at several expensive coffee machines owned by other people and it is an art that I haven't mastered. I can make something drinkable, but not something good.
The third reason is that I am really quite crap at cooking breakfast. So are a lot of cafes. But that's beside the point. Someone that cooks 50 breakfasts per day is likely to be much better at it than me, so I bow to the experts.
The last few weeks though have seen me doing a bit of work from home. The option is there to go out for a feed, but some morning I don't have time and I have to feed myself.
Bugger.
I have been in omelette mode lately, so that is what I have been making. Today, I finally managed to make one that would be passable at my favourite local cafe. Not great, but passable. It has only taken about 50 dozen eggs to get to this point.
There were three things that I did differently today - I added a lot more salt than normal, I ground a huge amount of pepper into it, and I whacked in a stack of ....aaargh, can't remember the name of the cheese. It's French, and it smells a bit, and it is great with eggs. It will come to me eventually. Anyway, I put in about 3 times my local dose. I need to remember the name as we are almost out and I will have to go shopping for more tomorrow.
I thought I was going to have a cheesy disaster, but it was fantastic. I was pretty impressed with myself. I have also been shopping around for bread to put it on, and have settled on a very good sourdough loaf that has only one drawback - it is $5.50 a loaf, and I have to drive miles to buy it.
But it is worth it.
In case you are wondering, the eggs come from cage chickens. To hell with free range - the cage chooks lay eggs that are just as good and are half the price. My only exception to that is when I get eggs from Ann, as her chooks run around all over the farm and get fed heaps of expensive grain, and the yolks are so yellow, they look like blood oranges.
So I can now feed myself at home. I am so happy, I think I will have to eat out tomorrow to celebrate.
The second reason is that I can't make coffee, or at least good coffee. I have tried my hand at several expensive coffee machines owned by other people and it is an art that I haven't mastered. I can make something drinkable, but not something good.
The third reason is that I am really quite crap at cooking breakfast. So are a lot of cafes. But that's beside the point. Someone that cooks 50 breakfasts per day is likely to be much better at it than me, so I bow to the experts.
The last few weeks though have seen me doing a bit of work from home. The option is there to go out for a feed, but some morning I don't have time and I have to feed myself.
Bugger.
I have been in omelette mode lately, so that is what I have been making. Today, I finally managed to make one that would be passable at my favourite local cafe. Not great, but passable. It has only taken about 50 dozen eggs to get to this point.
There were three things that I did differently today - I added a lot more salt than normal, I ground a huge amount of pepper into it, and I whacked in a stack of ....aaargh, can't remember the name of the cheese. It's French, and it smells a bit, and it is great with eggs. It will come to me eventually. Anyway, I put in about 3 times my local dose. I need to remember the name as we are almost out and I will have to go shopping for more tomorrow.
I thought I was going to have a cheesy disaster, but it was fantastic. I was pretty impressed with myself. I have also been shopping around for bread to put it on, and have settled on a very good sourdough loaf that has only one drawback - it is $5.50 a loaf, and I have to drive miles to buy it.
But it is worth it.
In case you are wondering, the eggs come from cage chickens. To hell with free range - the cage chooks lay eggs that are just as good and are half the price. My only exception to that is when I get eggs from Ann, as her chooks run around all over the farm and get fed heaps of expensive grain, and the yolks are so yellow, they look like blood oranges.
So I can now feed myself at home. I am so happy, I think I will have to eat out tomorrow to celebrate.
I finally make an edible breakfast
I eat breakfast out a lot. There are several reasons for this, but the main one is that I am not that fond of cereal. The ones that are good for you taste like cardboard and I just don't like the ones that are bad for you - way too sweet. I can't handle sweet stuff early in the morning. Croissants and bagels and all that are not for me - I need something savoury.
The second reason is that I can't make coffee, or at least good coffee. I have tried my hand at several expensive coffee machines owned by other people and it is an art that I haven't mastered. I can make something drinkable, but not something good.
The third reason is that I am really quite crap at cooking breakfast. So are a lot of cafes. But that's beside the point. Someone that cooks 50 breakfasts per day is likely to be much better at it than me, so I bow to the experts.
The last few weeks though have seen me doing a bit of work from home. The option is there to go out for a feed, but some morning I don't have time and I have to feed myself.
Bugger.
I have been in omelette mode lately, so that is what I have been making. Today, I finally managed to make one that would be passable at my favourite local cafe. Not great, but passable. It has only taken about 50 dozen eggs to get to this point.
There were three things that I did differently today - I added a lot more salt than normal, I ground a huge amount of pepper into it, and I whacked in a stack of ....aaargh, can't remember the name of the cheese. It's French, and it smells a bit, and it is great with eggs. It will come to me eventually. Anyway, I put in about 3 times my local dose. I need to remember the name as we are almost out and I will have to go shopping for more tomorrow.
I thought I was going to have a cheesy disaster, but it was fantastic. I was pretty impressed with myself. I have also been shopping around for bread to put it on, and have settled on a very good sourdough loaf that has only one drawback - it is $5.50 a loaf, and I have to drive miles to buy it.
But it is worth it.
In case you are wondering, the eggs come from cage chickens. To hell with free range - the cage chooks lay eggs that are just as good and are half the price. My only exception to that is when I get eggs from Ann, as her chooks run around all over the farm and get fed heaps of expensive grain, and the yolks are so yellow, they look like blood oranges.
So I can now feed myself at home. I am so happy, I think I will have to eat out tomorrow to celebrate.
The second reason is that I can't make coffee, or at least good coffee. I have tried my hand at several expensive coffee machines owned by other people and it is an art that I haven't mastered. I can make something drinkable, but not something good.
The third reason is that I am really quite crap at cooking breakfast. So are a lot of cafes. But that's beside the point. Someone that cooks 50 breakfasts per day is likely to be much better at it than me, so I bow to the experts.
The last few weeks though have seen me doing a bit of work from home. The option is there to go out for a feed, but some morning I don't have time and I have to feed myself.
Bugger.
I have been in omelette mode lately, so that is what I have been making. Today, I finally managed to make one that would be passable at my favourite local cafe. Not great, but passable. It has only taken about 50 dozen eggs to get to this point.
There were three things that I did differently today - I added a lot more salt than normal, I ground a huge amount of pepper into it, and I whacked in a stack of ....aaargh, can't remember the name of the cheese. It's French, and it smells a bit, and it is great with eggs. It will come to me eventually. Anyway, I put in about 3 times my local dose. I need to remember the name as we are almost out and I will have to go shopping for more tomorrow.
I thought I was going to have a cheesy disaster, but it was fantastic. I was pretty impressed with myself. I have also been shopping around for bread to put it on, and have settled on a very good sourdough loaf that has only one drawback - it is $5.50 a loaf, and I have to drive miles to buy it.
But it is worth it.
In case you are wondering, the eggs come from cage chickens. To hell with free range - the cage chooks lay eggs that are just as good and are half the price. My only exception to that is when I get eggs from Ann, as her chooks run around all over the farm and get fed heaps of expensive grain, and the yolks are so yellow, they look like blood oranges.
So I can now feed myself at home. I am so happy, I think I will have to eat out tomorrow to celebrate.
Friday, 1 December 2006
It's getting warmer
I am still hovering around the 75 to 100 kms per week mark, struggling to push right up to 160 kms per week. I was hoping that the warmer weather would help - I can get out of bed earlier and take a longer route into work, since the danger of getting frostbite on the way is no more. However, everything is conspiring against me and I am sleeping in instead, thus cutting down the morning riding time. If I can do 14 kms each way, cracking 100 kms a week should be a doddle - ride 4 times and it's done.
Apart from sleeping in though, I've been working from home a bit, and it's a bit hard to ride in those circumstances. Once I start working, it's hard to break out of it and take an hour off for a pedal. I know I should, but working from home seems to mean putting in a 14 hour day.
Hmm, must set alarm clock for 4pm and ride, regardless of what is going on.
Apart from sleeping in though, I've been working from home a bit, and it's a bit hard to ride in those circumstances. Once I start working, it's hard to break out of it and take an hour off for a pedal. I know I should, but working from home seems to mean putting in a 14 hour day.
Hmm, must set alarm clock for 4pm and ride, regardless of what is going on.
Exercise cockroaches
I was having a bite to eat with a few co-workers recently and we were talking about the hazards of mixing cyclists and pedestrians. One bloke goes for a ride before work some mornings (on a mountain bike I presume) and he also complains about pedestrians straddling the entire available footpath - and he lives in south Sydney. So it doesn't seem to matter which suburb you live in - some pedestrians are just plain fools.
Why is the ABC so stupid?
I was watching the news on the night that the Blackhawk clipped Kanimbla and went into the water. Some idiotic journo was prattling on about how the Army had sent out a purchase order for replacements for the Blackhawk and "those that fly in them must be nervously awaiting the arrival of the new helicopters", implying that the existing choppers are crap units that are just waiting to fall out of the sky!
Amazing. Where do they get these drongos?
Who knows what happened to the Blackhawk. Until the investigation is complete, it's a bit early to start blaming the helicopter. For all we know, the pilot might have stuffed the approach or the landing and it is all down to pilot error. Hell, after reading a few books on flying, everything is down to pilot error, even if the rotor falls off in mid-air (pilot blamed for not properly checking the aircraft before taking off).
I can't understand why more journalists aren't punched in the face each year - the excuse being that the puncher was trying to knock some common sense into the punchee.
Amazing. Where do they get these drongos?
Who knows what happened to the Blackhawk. Until the investigation is complete, it's a bit early to start blaming the helicopter. For all we know, the pilot might have stuffed the approach or the landing and it is all down to pilot error. Hell, after reading a few books on flying, everything is down to pilot error, even if the rotor falls off in mid-air (pilot blamed for not properly checking the aircraft before taking off).
I can't understand why more journalists aren't punched in the face each year - the excuse being that the puncher was trying to knock some common sense into the punchee.
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